


Prandium

by Ignis (wingblade)



Series: In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Era, Friendship, M/M, Minor Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 13:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/Ignis
Summary: “So,” Prompto says hurriedly, looking out the window at the streets of Insomnia, still bustling despite the heat, “when are the guys supposed to get here?”“About that, actually.” Gladio is moving his now empty cup around the table to preoccupy himself, and every time it nearly topples off the table, Prompto cringes, waiting for the inevitable crash. “They’re not coming.”Continuation ofApsconditum.





	Prandium

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a side story than a direct continuation, but I wanted Gladio and Prompto to have their own conclusion. The events of this story will become more relevant in part five (at least in passing), so please feel free to skip this story if the tags presented are not your particular cup of tea!
> 
>  **Part three** : an impromptu luncheon is had.

Inside of the diner is loud and hot, and every time Prompto hears the clash of plate against plate, he flinches. They are sitting a fair distance away from the entrance to the kitchen, but the sound still rings in his ears. From across the small table, Gladio looks at him, his hazel eyes curious.

“I can ask for another table,” Gladio says, pausing to assess Prompto’s reaction.

Prompto shakes his head, a light smile on his lips. “It’s fine. Really.”

The sounds of the diner are not as deafening now; not when Gladio holds him with his eyes. Prompto shrugs out of his vest, tucking it beside him, then sinks deeper into his seat.

When they order, the only thing Gladio asks for is a drink. It does not occur to Prompto to ponder Gladio’s choice in food, or lack thereof, as Prompto himself is ravenous; the uncomfortable beads of sweat building at his brow, and the ceiling fan blowing warm air around the room, cannot deter him from seeking sustenance. He orders a burger and some fries, along with a soda.

“Could I have some more water, too?” Prompto asks, offering the waitress his empty glass. She nods, returning moments later to refill his cup, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. He takes off his gloves so that he can feel the chill against his bare skin, and he reminisces of cooler days; before the ninety degree days set in, before the heat sapped the entirety of his energy, before all he wanted to do was flop onto his bed and stay there until the heatwave passed. Prompto’s eyes are closed when he brings the glass up to his face, and he presses his cheek against it, sighing in content.

When he sets the glass down, Gladio is smirking at him.

“So,” Prompto says hurriedly, looking out the window at the streets of Insomnia, still bustling despite the heat, “when are the guys supposed to get here?”

Their waitress delivers the food they ordered, and Prompto immediately begins wolfing down his burger. He is hungry, and it is just Gladio sitting across from him; if Ignis and Noctis were here, he would force himself to act more proper, especially since Ignis would be making _tsk tsk_ sounds at him in that fatherly way of his, if not scolding him outright. Gladio himself scarfs down the entirety of his drink in two long gulps.

“About that, actually.” Gladio is moving his now empty cup around the table to preoccupy himself, and every time it nearly topples off the table, Prompto cringes, waiting for the inevitable crash. “They’re not coming.”

“Are they okay?” Prompto asks, his mind already turning to worst case scenarios. Ignis, after all, would not allow Noctis to be late, even for a casual meal with friends at a local diner. If he could help it, at least; Noctis is notoriously difficult to pry out of bed, but Ignis is the best at wrangling him to where he needs to be.

“Yeah, they’re fine. It’s just — they’re not coming.”

 _Not coming._ Half of Prompto’s burger is in his mouth at this point, but he somehow loses the ability to chew.

“This is just for me and you.”

_Me and you._

_So Gladio’s set this whole shindig up to verbally assault me for showing Noct the video. I knew this was gonna happen, but, gods — in public?_

Gladio is still smiling at him; a cruel, sadistic joke waiting to be unleashed. Prompto manages to swallow the food in his mouth before sipping at his soda to avoid making conversation. What he did was despicable, really — betraying the trust of one friend to divulge in another, and this is not even counting how Ignis will feel when he hears about his video being shared around like the latest meme. But keeping quiet about it would have been a betrayal of sorts, too, and the mere thought of that had been unacceptable to Prompto.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto blurts out. Something in the back of his head tells him it is not his fault — not truly — but he feels guilty for the overall turn of events, nonetheless.

“I know.” Gladio sets his glass in front of him, his smile having soured. “You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have burdened you.”

Prompto continues eating his burger, but with slower, more calculated bites as he listens.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Gladio admits. “I couldn’t confront Ignis, I couldn’t show Noct — and I couldn’t just ignore it, right?”

Swallowing his food, thick in his throat, Prompto says, “I’dunno. I wouldn’t have known what to do, if I were you.”

“But you did. You did know, and it was the right choice.”

 _Was it, though?_ Prompto thinks of the dread on Noctis’ face when he saw the video, and then his face after — calm and blank, like nothing had happened, nothing at all. But Prompto saw through the mask, to the confusion and jealousy underneath, and it pains him to recall, even now.

“I showed you,” Gladio is saying, one arm now resting against the table, “because I trust you. And who out of all of us would do the right thing just for the sake of it being right?”

Prompto answers, “Ignis,” as if it is the most obvious choice, at which Gladio laughs, like thunder booming in his chest. A few of the diner’s patrons pause their meal to look over at them, causing Prompto to avert his eyes back out the window.

“Let me just say, it’s about damn time something like this happened.” Gladio’s hand is inching closer and closer, as if the middle of the table is the most natural place for it to be, but Prompto convinces himself that he is thinking about it far too much.

“You’re making it sound like you know something,” Prompto says, pondering the potential conspiracies between Gladio and Ignis for a moment. The possibility that they might hold secrets of their own, much like those of his own and Noctis’, does not escape his thoughts.

“Maybe I do.” There is a gleam in Gladio’s eyes now, fueling Prompto’s conspiratorial assumptions. “Anyways, I’m just saying I wanted you to do the right thing, even when I couldn’t.”

“I don’t think showing anyone Ignis’ sex tape is necessarily the ‘right thing’ in any given situation.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“You do know something.” Prompto makes a _tsk tsk_ sound, imitating Ignis’ customary form of expressing disapproval. “Come on, spill the beans.”

Gladio ignores his prying, and now, his fingers are brushing Prompto’s elbow; a mere whisper of a touch, sending goosebumps all up along his arm.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Gladio asks, his voice quiet. Prompto chokes down the last of his fries, stuffing them into his mouth like they are the last fries on Eos, then nods. Gladio has, after all, said everything he needed to say; he has alleviated some of Prompto’s shame, and he even treated him to a satisfying, albeit greasy, meal.

As Gladio is paying the check, Prompto slips back into his vest. The relief from the heat its absence had provided seemed minuscule when he first took it off, but now it clings to his shirt, damp with sweat.

Outside is still somehow worse; the sun’s rays are scalding his skin, and Prompto has to shield his eyes with his hand as they make their way toward the parking lot. A wave of nausea hits him, and Gladio places a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Even the pavement beneath Prompto’s shoes is hot, and he begins moving faster toward the car, his feet hopping awkwardly on the ground.

They have nearly made it to the car — Prompto can feel the frigid breeze of the air conditioning already; can hear his own gasp of relief as the air sweeps across his skin — when Gladio pushes him against the side of the car. The motion is strong, although not forceful, as Gladio holds his waist to keep him from pressing onto the hot surface of the car entirely. It is the shock from the sudden advance that deprives Prompto of words, and before he can do anything other than squint at the glaring sun, Gladio’s face is in front of his; so close he can feel the prickle of his facial hair.

A moment of silence passes between them, and then another dozen. From the way Gladio’s eyes are darting across his face, Prompto can tell he is searching for the smallest sign of discomfort — a sign of rejection. His words escape him still, as his fingers run up the smooth, warm body of the car on either side of him.

 _Say something,_ Prompto pleads to himself. _Anything._

“What is it you’re waiting for?” His voice cracks, from both the heat and desire; a desire to feel the scratchiness of Gladio’s face against his, and a desire to make this real.

Gladio responds with his lips, and the kiss is wet with sweat, their mouths slipping against each other. The coarseness of his facial hair digs all along Prompto’s jaw, scratching as they twist and turn and deepen the kiss.

This is how Prompto figures he will look back on their first kiss: hot and sweaty and real; so very real.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” Gladio asks as he pulls back, the sound deep in his throat like when he is growling at Prompto to watch where he is aiming his weapons, or after Ignis accuses him of misplacing his coffee on purpose — but it is deep for an entirely different reason now.

“Why didn’t you do it sooner, then?” The boldness in Prompto’s voice provokes Gladio into yet another kiss.

“Stubbornness, if you can believe it.” Gladio’s breath across his face is a sheet of warmth, and it takes another dozen kisses for them to finally decide to retreat back into the car. Prompto shivers at the sudden chill emanating from the vents, and Gladio reaches over to rub his upper arm. The gooseflesh is back, tingling his skin like Gladio’s kisses, and Prompto is sure Gladio can feel it, too.

“If it’s any...well, consolation, I do feel bad about showing you the video,” Gladio says as he starts the car, backing out of the parking lot. “Because you’re right; it wasn’t my place to show you. So if Ignis wants to scream at me and ban me to the wilderness for a month, I won’t blame him — but I have a feeling things are gonna turn out okay.”

Prompto watches the other cars as they pass, his chest both light and full; like he could slip right through the cracks of the door, and yet as if he has a hand holding him back — Gladio’s hand.

“I don’t think he’d do that. He knows you’d enjoy it too much,” Prompto replies honestly.

“If you’re with me, then yeah.” At the next stoplight, Gladio gives Prompto’s thigh a gentle squeeze. “It wouldn’t be much of a punishment at all.”


End file.
